Free The Night Before by Lisa Jackson

tell me everything you know about Josh Bandeaux,” Reed said as he dropped a slim file onto Sylvie Morrisette’s desk at the police station. Chewing gum, she looked over her shoulder, ignoring the flickering computer monitor where some of the images of Josh Bandeaux’s slumped, very dead body, were visible. “And you can leave out the part about him being a prick. I already got that.”
    “I was gonna mention that he was a smooth talker and con man. Just another example of Southern gentility gone bad.” She fingered the manila folder, laying it open. “What’s this?”
    “Preliminary autopsy report. Very preliminary. Nothing in it we don’t already know. Approximate time of death is midnight. From outward appearances it looks like he died of blood loss, maybe self-inflicted. We’ll get more information once the autopsy is completed.” He dropped into a battered side chair in her cubicle and noticed, not for the first time, how neat she kept her work space. Nothing out of place. Pictures of her family arranged on her desk, a potted fern in one corner, pens and pencils kept in an old mug with faded letters that read, “If you don’t like cops, next time you’re in trouble, call a hippie.” A denim jacket decorated with rhinestones hung from a hall tree; above it was perched a Braves baseball cap.
    “I don’t know that much about Bandeaux really.” Spying the skepticism in his eyes, she added, “ Really . I wasn’t involved with him, but I’d met him, okay? What I do know was that he was married a couple of times.”
    Reed’s ears pricked up. “Caitlyn Montgomery wasn’t his first wife?”
    “Nah.” Morrisette leaned back in her desk chair and twiddled a pencil between her fingers. “The first one was named Maude. Maude Havenbrooke. Later, he hooked up with Caitlyn, who became wife number two. Then, I guess, he was gonna divorce her.”
    “Because of a potential wife number three?”
    She lifted a shoulder. “That’s the rumor. He had himself a live-in.”
    “And you know this . . . how?”
    “I checked up on him. Remember? For a friend who was interested.”
    “And her name is?”
    Morrisette hesitated.
    “This is a potential homicide investigation,” Reed reminded her and noticed her mouth tighten at the corners.
    “Millie. Millicent Torme. And she’s married, okay, so try to be discreet.”
    “Discretion is my middle name.”
    “My ass.”
    “Do you know Maude Havenbrooke?”
    “Never met her, not personally.”
    “But she’s still around?” he asked casually, thinking that Morrisette had taken a major interest in Josh Bandeaux and his personal life. Maybe she was telling the truth about her lack of interest in the deceased; then again, he wouldn’t put it past her to stretch the truth a little if it meant keeping her reputation intact.
    “Far as I know. She owns a bed-and-breakfast near Forsyth Park. Mockingbird Manor or something like that, one of those old showpiece homes filled with antiques and such. The kind where rich tourists stay when they’re in town. Word has it that she makes croissants to die for. Drizzles them with a combo of honey and homemade raspberry jam.”
    Reed decided to have a chat with the first Mrs. Bandeaux. “Was she friendly with her ex?”
    “Maude? Friendly with Bandeaux? I have no idea. But she remarried. A guy by the name of Springer, I think.”
    Reed made a mental note.
    “She have any kids with Josh?”
    “I’m not sure . . .” Morrisette said, then snapped her fingers and sat upright. “No, that’s wrong. I don’t think they had any kids between them, but Maude was a little older and had a kid by her first husband.”
    “Complicated.”
    “Families always are. Josh might have adopted the kid. I don’t know. As I said, I wasn’t involved.” A slight flush darkened the tops of her cheeks. “And don’t take that attitude with me. I just checked him out for Millie, who was split from her husband at the time.”
    “So Millie took up